


I Am Writing

by PinkDevastatia (QueenJar197)



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Writer's Block, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenJar197/pseuds/PinkDevastatia
Summary: A day in the life of a writer who just can't seem to write.





	I Am Writing

**Author's Note:**

> So this really is the product of staring at a blank screen and slowly getting angry at the blinking cursor. But it's my baby so

Every word I put on the page is offensive to me. 

The ache in my soul is unbearable; this need to create, to craft, to capture the storm within and confine it to the blank plane of paper. But my mind flies with a thousand thoughts and my hands are pressed to catch up. And my tongue - if only I could understand the language of my heart as it screams at me. What torture this is. To know. To know absolutely that you must sing, yet the melody eludes you. To want to dance when your body feels foreign. To hope to laugh, to feel the joy there, deep down, bubbling, waiting to explode. Yet when you open your mouth to scream EUPHORIA... nothing. Only wisps, whispers, glimmers and glimpses.

Ideas bouncing. Thoughts racing. Heart screaming, chest aching, lungs failing. Every word is a breath and I am drowning in a sea of confusion.

It's not musical enough. What's my theme? Where is the story? No, where are the connectives?! Don't lose the connectives. What will we do without the connectives? All is lost without the connectives.

Oh and if I could just find the inspiration…

But you do not write from inspiration, you write from the heart. But my heart is full and bursting. Of course, the heart isn't the problem. It's the hands and the mind and the soul and the failure to connect them all in that glorious symphony of creation. It's the gnawing at the edge of consciousness, that niggling at the back of your mind that you just can't shake. That ghostly moaning, croaking voice that whispers, _ I should be writing _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and may the day end in joy for all.


End file.
